


overlap, start to merge

by seaworn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Basically a ficlet where they're almost beginning to be friends, Coffee, Harry is a trainwreck, M/M, and pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn
Summary: “I’m sorry to break this to you, Potter, but you actually have to be in a place where they serve coffee for that to work.”Harry’s eyes snapped past his own face in the mirror. He groaned as Draco Malfoy stepped into the lift with him. Trust everything unpleasant to happen to him before 10 am.





	overlap, start to merge

Black-rimmed glasses, hastily repaired with a piece of tape. Behind the glasses, one brow was beginning to swollen and darken. A split lip and traces of blood on the upper-lip.

 

Harry frowned. His life felt like a circle of getting a gash or a bruise and then waiting patiently for it to heal, only to have his head bashed against a wall or trip over into a rose bush. His face was a mess. It was purely by luck that his nose wasn’t crooked by all the times it has broken by now. He did go to a Healer when things got really bad, but sadly a few bruises on his face weren’t big enough a deal. He’d just ask Hermione to heal his bruises and cuts later.

 

Harry fixed his mirror-self with a determined look and didn’t register the lift saying _ping_ and stopping as he said, out loud:

“E...shpresso. Es...shpresso. Fuck!”

 

“I’m sorry to break this to you, Potter, but you actually have to be in a place where they serve coffee for that to work.”

 

Harry’s eyes snapped past his own face in the mirror. He groaned as Draco Malfoy stepped into the lift with him. Trust _everything_ unpleasant to happen to him before 10 am.

 

Harry tried not to look at Malfoy as the man mumbled “ _main entrance”_ to the lift, but did so anyway. Because the way Malfoy dressed these days was a fucking mystery to him. Malfoy had spent their entire childhood at Hogwarts insulting Harry’s wardrobe, swirling around in his perfect, pure-blood robes that were probably made from someone’s tears. And yet he was wearing _normal_ clothes these days, harbouring the kind of fashion he’d loudly despised before. He still wore white shirts and black jackets without ties, polished shoes and dress trousers, some days. But Harry had observed that - at least to his knowledge - he mostly wore jeans that were faded at the thighs, light jumpers that looked softer and comfier than Harry’s own bed, and Slytherin-green boots. He had leather belts, devastatingly tight trousers, shirts that made his waist look tiny, and _no robes_. Which wouldn’t be so confusing if they weren’t at The Ministry.

 

Because apparently,  Malfoy worked there too. He did something he himself had called “freelancing every now and then”. Harry had poked around a bit (bullying several secretaries to tears until they’d told him) and found out that Malfoy had studied Potions abroad and was now, indeed, helping The Ministry when it came to substances and potions. No-one seemed to know any details, though, which was infuriating. All Harry knew was that Malfoy was seen around The Department Of Magical Accidents And Catastrophes more often than not, but he still irregularly walked around in other places as well. Harry suspected that either he actually _did_ something like consult The Ministry, or his position was such a delicate one that they’d covered it with a lazy “oh, he’s just freelancing!”. Harry feared the day when they’d need help at Auror Office, since Malfoy’s work seemed to be so department-crossing. They had people who were specialised in potions, explosions, substances and the like, but Malfoy was just _better._ Harry didn't have to be friends with him or know what he’d been up to after the war to know that.

 

It annoyed him a bit to admit that.

 

Harry tugged at his own robes self-consciously and faintly wondered what he’d have to do to be able to lose his ridiculous work robes. He always felt like an idiot next to the impeccably dressed Malfoy, but the feeling multiplied whenever he was wearing his dusty blue robes. They made him look pallid and shorter than he actually was.

 

“I _know that”,_ Harry snapped, realising he’d probably been staring for too long.  He turned to look at himself from the mirror again, touching the side of his face. It was strange, not feeling your fingertips trace your cheek.  He poked at it, wondering when the spell would wear off.

 

Malfoy was watching him expectantly, arms folded on his chest. Harry was tempted to just stay quiet until Malfoy’s impatient “ _well_?”, but lift-rides only last for so long.

 

He sighed. “I went to get my tooth...repaired. It fell out. They did a lot of, er, spells, and now I can’t feel my face. Hence the lisp.”

 

Malfoy smirked, undoubtedly at the way Harry’s sounded at the moment, lisping the way only a person who didn't feel their tongue could.

 

“You’re aging remarkably well for someone who’s beginning to lose their teeth”, Malfoy said and flashed a smile that showed his flawless, white set of teeth. What a wanker.

 

Harry turned away from the mirror and faced the blond. “Fuck off, Malfoy! I was completely prepared to fight with my wand, but instead the suspect I was after punched me in the face with a _brick_ ”, Harry hissed and blushed at his poor pronunciation. He was an illiterate idiot in Malfoy’s eyes already; there was no need to encourage the image.

 

Unconsciously Harry touched his broken lip with the tip of his tongue. He _was_ quite happy his head hadn’t been smashed. If you survive getting hit with a 20-pound brick with just a lost tooth, a headache and some bruises and cuts, you should consider yourself lucky. He was, he truly was. But his day was still a shitty one.

 

“And”, Harry added because he felt like ranting a little, “they did enough spells to stun a Hippogriff - “just in case, Mr. Potter!’”

 

The lift stopped with a squeak and a _ping_ , and they stepped out.

 

“I can’t blame them”, Malfoy said, as he started heading to the nearest Apparition point alongside Harry. Harry tried to match his strides to Malfoy’s, whose legs were ridiculously long. “I’ve heard you’re a bitch when it comes to injuries. Your reputation precedes you, Potter. They just probably wanted to make sure you didn't bite their fingers off in a fit of pain. Or, you know, punch them.”

 

“That was _one time!_ ” Harry moaned, because it was unfair that all of his embarrassing shit reached Malfoy’s ears. “I was in _pain_ , and he jammed his fingers _right_ against my wound!”

 

“He was trying to move your hand from your thigh enough to do a simple healing spell because you blocked the wound and squealed like a banshee”, Malfoy said slowly, like he was a saint for having the patience to explain something so simple to him.

 

“You weren’t there, I didn't do any of that”, Harry muttered. He couldn’t quite justify the punch, though. Now that he was remembering it, Harry made a mental note to add Healer Addison to his Christmas present list. Addison still looked vaguely spooked whenever they saw each other, as if Harry had problems with controlling his rage. Which he _didn’t._

 

Malfoy stopped walking when they reached the Atrium. The mid-morning was busy, Ministry workers buzzing past them and chattering loudly, shoes clapping on the pale marble floor. Harry had always hated how overwhelming the entrance hall was, too bright and traffic-y. And going by the look on Malfoy’s face, he didn’t like it either. Harry wondered if this place reminded him of the war, and what had happened afterwards, with the trials and questionings and all that crap. He wondered if he’d been assigned to wear work-robes like everyone else, and whether him wearing jeans that had tears in the knees was just a way to say _Fuck you_.

 

“I see”, Malfoy said, amused, clearly not believing. He glanced at Harry, locks of blond hair bobbing on his forehead. “And the reason you’re pronouncing types of caffeine in front of the mirror? Just practise?”

 

“No! I just really want coffee”, Harry said and flinched at the whiny tone in his voice. “I’ve been up for close to 40 hours now, and during that time not only have I been beaten up, I’ve also been forced to attend our 8 am debrief with my other front tooth in my fist rather than my mouth and summarize on a scale from 1 to 10 how successful it was to _not_ wait for back-up last night, and all I want is a _sodding espresso_ ”, Harry said with determination, even when he was sure he was spitting all around the place with a half of his tongue asleep.

 

“But maybe I’ll just have a latte”, he added petulantly. “ _That_ doesn’t have difficult letters.”

 

Malfoy let out a clean huff of laughter and it made a lovely echo around the hall.

“No, for fuck’s sake, don’t. I’ll come with you and get you your _sodding espresso,_ just because no-one should have to endure a beverage that has _warm milk_ in it.”

 

Harry blinked once.

 

“Why? You don’t like me”, he reminded Malfoy helpfully. He didn’t say ‘you hate me’, because he thought that wasn’t true. They didn't hate each other anymore because there was no reason to. After the war ended it had been like unplugging the drain: All the hatred and hostile tension had left in a rush, leaving the strangest feeling of cleanliness behind.

 

But the new, different kind of tension between them now wasn’t entirely unwanted.

 

A smile. “Because you talking about coffee with such passion has given me an urge, as well. And you can talk more about how your superiors hate you, it’s funny.”

 

Harry would have made a rude gesture if it wasn’t for the hysterical though in his head that reminded Malfoy was offering to buy him coffee because he’d whined that he’ll embarrass himself if he has to say ‘espresso' out loud to a barista.

 

“Um, okay, yeah”, Harry managed to say.

 

Draco lifted a sceptic brow and offered his forearm to Harry as they stepped closer to the Apparition point.

 

“Uh, together?” Harry hesitated. He’d assumed they’d use the Floo to leave. Harry wasn’t big on Apparating since it always made him feel sick afterwords. He wasn’t sure he could handle the feeling today of all days.

 

Malfoy sighed. “Well, do you know the name of the place?”

 

“What place? “

 

“The _place_ where they serve _coffee.”_

 

 _“_ It’s a particular place?”

 

“I _know_ a good place. Now take my hand and shut up.”

 

Harry nodded and curled his fingers around Malfoy’s forearm, tried not to think about how warm and _solid_ it felt. Which was a stupid thing to think to begin with, because of course Malfoy was a human with human parts. But most of the time he looked like a ghost, or something ethereal with his pale complexion and icy, grey eyes.

 

Malfoy grabbed a handful of powder, then pronounced a complex-sounding address in perfect French. Harry managed to roll his eyes before the Ministry started to spin around them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this was definitely inspired by my own trip to the dentist. Thank you so much for reading! I love Harry and Draco to bits and I have a small sequel planned to this ficlet just because I love these two trainwrecks. Comments are more than welcome! <3 
> 
> Please come say hi to me @[tumblr](http://www.dotingdamen.tumblr.com)!


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